


Every Choice Recalled

by appending_fic



Category: Last Rune Series - Mark Anthony
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Love Confessions, M/M, Sexual Content, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Think on your regrets,” the woman said, as she pushed herself up from the table, “and erase them. Set them aside, and forget them.”</p><p>Beltan is offered a chance to do things over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jassanja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassanja/gifts).



The woman had shown up near lunch one December morning - near the solstice, if not exactly so - and taken a seat at the furthest corner from the door. She ordered a bottle of whiskey, and, Beltan realized as the lunch rush began trickling down, was on her third bottle two hours later.

Knowing that Travis would think it poorly if either of them had to deal with a drunkard by day’s end, Beltan ambled to the woman’s table.

“I think you ought to call it a day, ma’am.”

She looked up at Beltan with a piercing, venomous gaze. It held a disdainful, disinterested quality that made Beltan feel like a bug under the gaze of an apothecary. Her hazel eyes gleamed like gems in the bar’s lighting, the only spark of life in her cracked, wrinkled face.

“Do not presume such weakness. This poison is like water to me, Sir Beltan.” Lips the color of rotting leather twisted upward in a hideous smile. “Bring another bottle, and break bread with me.”

Beltan could not say if he moved to comply because he wished to, or because the woman’s words possessed some hold over him. When he returned, he caught sight of the woman drawing runes on the table with bits of melted ice. She looked up as he sat, teeth sharper than any human’s could be.

“Sit, Sir Beltan.”

“Who are you?”

The woman shrugged. “In the end, names are chains to shackle one’s being. They bind and constrain in ways no irons can.” She picked up the bottle and took a long draught, giving Beltan a competitive smirk when she set it down. “But perhaps you do not wish to dwell on such unhappy topics. Go on, take a sip.”

Beltan took the bottle; he knew he could not match the woman drink for drink, but he took a draught to show willing. The woman’s smirk widened.

“How did you get here, Sir Beltan?”

Beltan chuckled. “I married the owner, and he lets me tinker around the place.”

“Heh. Not what I meant, Sir Beltan. A twisting, painful path brought you here. Betrayal, heartbreak, and uncertainty have left their marks on you. Tell me, Sir Beltan, do you regret it?”

Beltan opened his mouth to deny it, but a twitch of the woman’s lips set some thought in motion. She did not ask if Beltan regretted the place he had come to. She asked if he regretted what had brought him here, if he regretted the suffering that had preceded his happy ending.

“If...I had had the courage to speak when I had the chance, I wonder if...things might have been better.”

“Then let me pay my fare, Sir Beltan.” The woman lifted a small bag to the table, setting it down with a clinking sound Beltan had not heard in years - the sound of something full of gold. And then she flicked her fingers, producing between them a corroded metal coin, which she tossed to Beltan.

He caught the coin and stared at it. One one side was a carved skull, and the other two triangles, inverted and touching just at the points.

“Think on your regrets,” the woman said, as she pushed herself up from the table, “and erase them. Set them aside, and forget them.”

Beltan did not mention the woman, or the coin, to Travis, instead musing on it once the other man had gone to sleep. He stared at the two sides, which called to mind the two-sided coins that could once carry one from Eldh to Earth or back again.

He had no doubt that the woman was something of a world beyond Earth - whether Eldh or somewhere else, he couldn’t say. But she had offered him something he was certain she could provide - there was power in her gaze that was reminiscent of the gods he had met.

Beltan found himself standing in their room, watching over Travis’ sleeping form. He fingered the coin anxiously. He so badly wanted to take a chance, but he was painfully aware that using it would steal something from Travis, who had no choice in the matter.

At the same time, Beltan wanted to believe that without the pain and the stress he had caused through his cowardice, both of them - everyone - would be better off.

‘Think on your regrets,’ the woman had told him, so Beltan closed his eyes and held the coin up to his lips. He let his mind drift to the terrible days when he had believed his affections were not only not returned, but were rejected. He let his mind drift to the words that had inspired his cowardice -


	2. Two Roads Diverged

“The dragons speak truth. But they do not speak all of it, and what they do they utter in a way intended to taint, to poison, and to gnaw at the heart. The dragons want nothing more than to bring to ruin all of creation, and to return to the shapeless mists before time. Do not forget that when you think on what Sfithrisir told you.”

Falken sighed. “And you as well, Melia.”

As he sat watch that night, Beltan brooded over Sfithrisir’s words, as well as Melia’s. A part of him wished to heed the advice of the woman he had sworn to protect; surely her wisdom was worth heeding. But even knowing the words were chosen to gnaw at his heart, Beltan could not help but find them weighing on him. To turn from him ‘the moment his feelings became clear’ - the promise was painfully exact, a warning that to allow Travis to learn of how his feelings had changed since they had first met - or, rather, had always been more passionate than he had allowed to be seen - would be a grave mistake.

And yet...it was not the whole truth. It was the truth spoken in such a way to cause the most pain imaginable.

Beltan was not a bard, and so the twisting of words was not something he excelled at. As a result, though he thought hard on Sfithrisir’s words, he could find nothing in them that held any promise for him.

The next day, however, Beltan came to the sobering realization that they all labored under the weight of Sfithrisir’s secrets. The dragon had called Travis ‘Runebreaker’, and had promised that he would end the world. Surely those words haunted Travis as doggedly as did the threat of a broken heart did Beltan.

When they fled the _talathrin_ to escape the _krondrim_ , Beltan made a decision. Every day, they risked death at the hands of the _krondrim_. Travis bore this burden as well as Sfithrisir’s accusations that he would end this world.

Beltan could not afford cowardice, could not afford letting fear govern his actions. 

As they settled down for the night, Beltan caught Travis by the elbow and tugged him away from the fire.

“May we speak for a moment, Travis?”

Travis stiffened at the touch, but after a moment, his shoulders slumped. “If you like.”

It was not a promising start, but there was no way Beltan could back down now. He led Travis just out of sight of the camp and stopped there. He realized suddenly that his hand was still on Travis’ arm.

Beltan took a deep breath. “Travis, I have been thinking hard on Sfithrisir’s words, and I do not believe I can hold my tongue any longer. I have grown...quite fond of you.”

“I care about you, too, Beltan.”

“No, please. Let me finish. I have grown to care for you a great deal, Travis. More than...one might feel toward a comrade. I would keep you close to me, nurture you, bed you…” He stuttered to a halt, uncertain if he had the words to continue, or if doing so would be wise.

A sharp movement brought Beltan’s attention to Travis, who had pulled his arm free of Beltan and turned away, head bent low. Panic surged through Beltan. Sfithrisir’s words had held enough truth that Beltan should have been more wary. He should have better guarded his heart.

“Forget I said anything,” he muttered, turning to go.

A hand clamped around his wrist as Beltan moved. He turned, and there was Travis watching him with an earnest gaze, even though his eyes were lined with stress.

“Travis-”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, loving me,” Travis said. “Runebreaker - all I know is destruction.” He laughed, a broken sound that seemed on the edge of weeping. “But for the life of me, I’m too selfish to tell you not to.”

Travis tugged Beltan closer to him and wrapped his arm around Beltan’s middle. Beltan could only stand shocked, unresponsive, as Travis lay his head against Beltan’s. Though he had heard the words, he could not bring himself to believe them.

“Travis…”

Travis’ hands slid downward, gently caressing Beltan’s buttocks; Beltan started, his hips jutting forward and brushing against Travis’. There was a hint of arousal there, and at the contact, Beltan could feel himself stiffening. Travis gave Beltan a shy, almost playful smile. “I believe there was mention of bedding me?”

Beltan’s heart almost stopped; he certainly couldn’t breathe for a moment. “I…”

“Yes? Or no?”

A flush of heat ran through Beltan; put so plainly, there was only one possible answer. He reached his arms around Travis and pulled their groins together. A hiss escaped Travis’ lips, his cheeks reddening in the darkening light. So pressed together, Beltan could feel Travis was fully erect. The other man shifted, bringing their clothed phalluses together, an electric touch that nearly took Beltan to completion; it had been a long time and even longer with a man he cared anything for.

Travis’ smile turned almost wicked, and he reached a hand down, fumbling with Beltan’s clothes to reach in and-

“If this is indicative of the quality of Sfithrisir’s advice, we may need to re-evaluate the intelligence he shared on the Stone of Fire.”

Travis lurched away from Beltan. Falken stood about ten feet away, arms folded. He was smirking. “Really, I would expect better from you, Sir Beltan. There are ladies present.”

“Not here!” Travis protested. Beltan glanced over at Travis, whose entire face was flushed. He looked panicked, and for a moment, Beltan’s stomach twisted. There were men would would easily embrace you in private, but renounce you in public. He would hope Travis were not such a man, but dire prophecies still haunted him.

Falken, however, was laughing. “Shall I leave and tell the others you’ll be back in a minute? An hour?”

“A minute,” Travis said.

“My condolences, Sir Beltan.” Falken winked and headed back toward camp.

Travis’ face was still flushed, but he did roll his eyes as he stepped back toward to Beltan. “Does he honestly believe we’re going to keep going with him knowing exactly what we’re up to?”

Beltan offered Travis a weak smile. “He was right. There are ladies nearby.”

“It would be easier to continue this somewhere private.”

“Ah - Travis.” Beltan took a step closer to Travis. “I...what will happen when we go back?”

“We’re going to get some sleep. The past couple of weeks haven’t exactly been restful.”

“No - I meant - what about us? I do not like...concealing my feelings.”

Travis’ expression clouded. “I don’t want to make trouble for you.”

“How - I would be proud if people knew you had chosen to share your heart with me.”

“To be tied to the Runebreaker?” Travis retorted bitterly.

“To be tied to Travis Wilder, the greatest man I know.”

Travis had no reply to that, but he grabbed Beltan’s hand and didn’t let go when they returned to the others. Melia took in the sight of the two of them, smiled, and gave a subtle nod. Grace gave Travis a questioning look, to which he just shook his head.

Travis settled down next to Beltan, and for all that they had no opportunity to return to that uncertain, passionate moment, Beltan woke giddy. He took the opportunity to help Travis with his pack, earning a shy smile in response.

When they made camp, Grace cornered Beltan when Travis went to get water. She was smiling when she did, which put Beltan at ease, certain she wasn’t here to berate him for daring to touch Travis.

“I’d wondered if you were going to say anything after Sfithrisir’s little warning,” she said. “I’m glad you did - I’m glad it worked out. You - both deserve to be happy.” She sniffed. “I won’t insult your honor and ask you to take care of him.”

Beltan glanced along toward the river, a guilty start in his chest. "I believe I should see after him, Lady Grace."

She waved her hand in a casual dismissal, and Beltan followed after Travis. When he reached the river and saw the _krondrim_ threatening his - threatening Travis, his vision went red. When Beltan’s senses returned, he was sprawled on the ground, the _krondrim_ gone, and Travis was kneeling some distance away, the grass smouldering beneath him. Beltan's old wound throbbed painfully, but he still scrambled to his feet to see to Travis.

"I came when you were gone too long; I should have been with you from the beginning. I won't leave you alone again, Travis. By my blood, I swear it."

Travis gave that odd, broken laugh again. "I don't need a warrior of Vathris at my side to keep me safe. I can kill well enough on my own."

Beltan's heart twisted at the pain in Travis' voice. He reached out to the other man, but Travis winced and drew back. "Stay back!"

"Travis?" The sharp tone was unfamiliar, harsh. A worm of worry curled in Beltan's stomach.

Travis shook his head. "We fought with _krond_ , here. I can still see the heat on me." He lifted a hand, holding it flat, and Beltan could see the blistering waves rising from it. "Give it a minute."

Beltan shifted as close as he could before the heat became unbearable. It was not so far away, and as the air cooled, he shifted closer until he was sitting next to Travis and could draw him into a rough embrace. "If you do not need me to protect you, at least pretend, as the Lady Melia does."

"No." Travis' voice was still shaky, but as he continued, it grew stronger as the words gave him confidence. "I don't want you bound to me by - duty. If you stay, or leave, or stand beside me against the Pale King's entire army, I want it to be your choice. You aren't my servant or your vassal, Beltan. We should be...partners."

Beltan wanted to argue or explain, but he could see the shaking in Travis' frame. The distinctions between Beltan's honor and being a servant were not something he should argue now.

"Then as you draw our enemies to you like flies to honey, I will stay by your side to ensure I keep in practice."

Travis snorted, which Beltan counted as a win.

"You two should develop a signal for when you want to sneak off for dalliances, so I don't have to be the one to report back you are not dead but merely as randy as stableboys."

Falken crested the top of the ridge, smiling as he approached the two men; at the sight of the scorched earth, however, he frowned. "You didn't burn the grass in your passions, did you?"

"It was Eriaun and the _krondrim_ ," Travis muttered. "So forgive me for taking a moment to catch my breath."

Falken in the end insisted they return to camp to allow Grace to check over both of them. She lectured Beltan about avoiding too much strain, and then looked within him with her magic before asking about Beltan's old dreams. He directed her away from asking further and sought a quiet moment alone. He did not want to admit to anyone, even Lady Grace, how badly those dreams had once haunted him. He did not know how such a simple image cut him so deeply, but he had long banished the dreams to the far corners of his memory, and he had no wish for Lady Grace to reawaken them.

The whole camp was then caught up in the arrival of Melia's friend Tome. He joined them in jokes and laughter such that Beltan saw even Travis' spirits lifting. As Tome passed a cup around the circle, Travis even recklessly pressed a hurried kiss against Beltan's cheek as he handed it to the knight.

All too soon, however, they were drawn back into the worries of reality, Krondisar, and Dakarreth.

"And I trust you know to be wary of the wisdom of dragons, Falken," Tome offered with a scowl.

"They may err as well as men," Beltan added.

Tome looked up at him, his golden eyes sharp and alert. "Not if they can help it. Dragons value their knowledge above all else. Although they twist their words as witches do the Weirding, I have never before heard of a dragon being _wrong_."

Melia turned the conversation back to their quest, then, leaving Beltan to brood and wonder if the dragon had spoken falsely - and if so, how. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by Travis' outburst at the realization that the Lady Melia was of the _nindari_.

Travis took refuge from those gathered by the fire; Beltan followed, uncertainly. He was well aware he had concealed Lady Melia's nature from Travis, but hoped Travis would accept his counsel nonetheless.

"I don't want to hear it," Travis growled from the darkness.

Beltan stepped closer, and was gratified to see a shock of remorse cross the other man's face. "I will leave if you wish."

Travis' expression flickered, warring with itself. At last, he shrugged. "Better than either of them trying to explain themselves."

"The last time the gods walked the world openly, it nearly tore the world asunder."

Travis snorted. "That doesn't explain keeping it from me. Don't they trust us?"

"I...don't think they trust their own judgment." At Travis' shocked look, Beltan shrugged. "Falken thinks he destroyed a nation, and the Lady Melia...she must suffer the consequences of her choices forever. They are cautious, and in that caution, they do not see you as I do."

"I should hope not," Travis said wryly, and when Beltan caught his meaning, he laughed.

"In any case, they forget our limitations, sometimes. A decade's wait is not so hard to an immortal."

Travis shook his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd accuse them of choosing an exemplary advocate."

Beltan felt a flush overtake his cheeks. "I am no advocate, Travis-"

"If you say so." But Travis' eyes lingered on Beltan for the rest of the night, something assessing, and almost approving about his expression. He apologized to Melia, which she accepted with more cheer and less grace than she might in ordinary circumstances.


	3. Haunted Spirit

Sitting over Melia's still form, Beltan cursed himself for even the idle thought that so long as she remained ill in Spardis, he could remain her Knight Protector. He understood perfectly why she had insisted on removing him, to save his honor from having to follow her into uncertain death, but it stung, especially after Travis' own insistence. 

Melia at least understood what she asked, and what she did. Travis was careless with his words-

Beltan rebuked himself for the thought. Travis cared too deeply; he took care not to use his magic for fear of harming those near him, worried over the promise that he would end the world, and wished to keep those nearest to him from harm. But for all that, he was blind to how others saw him. His courage seemed to falter often when dealing with Beltan, as if he were more easily able to see Beltan as a Knight Protector than as a lover. 

And he had been acting strangely ever since they had arrived in Spardis, quiet and sullen. He had cornered Beltan earlier that morning, when Beltan had been returning from desperate prayers that Melia would recover. Words seemed to have failed him, for he stood in silence for a moment before drawing Beltan into a single desperate kiss and then left him to his duties.

He reappeared several hours later with Grace and Aryn in tow, looking shaken.

“We’re going to be stuck here for a while,” he announced. “The regent’s back. And there’s more bad news. I met a Spider - one of the king’s old spies. He said the regent had them all hunted down. We’re invited to dine with him, but…”

“You go. I can remain behind and watch Lady Meila.”

Aryn shook her head. “His chamberlain will tell him who we all are. I don’t think you can get out of this without insulting him.”

Beltan felt a surge of panic in his chest. He couldn’t dare leave Melia alone in this treacherous place; his fear must have shown on his face, because Travis slipped closer, reaching out a hand.

“I can watch over her-”

And risk losing both of them, if something happened. “I can’t,” Beltan blurted, feeling his heart racing. “Not with both - Lady Grace, can you see if she’ll wake again?”

He could only vaguely feel a hand on his shoulder as Grace crossed to the bed, reaching out to Melia with hand and magic. His chest felt twisted and knotted up, helpless in the face of problems he couldn’t fight. All he could do was desperately wish the woman - the _nindari_ \- would wake.

Grace stepped away, shaking her head. “I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with her physically. This sort of thing happens, sometimes. She’ll have to wake up - or not - on her own.”

Travis glanced at Beltan and squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve been talking to her, right?”

Beltan nodded. “I remembered you said familiar voices might help.”

“Well, there’s got to be something else,” Travis said. He looked to Grace. “Look, we don’t need a diagnosis. We just need a...a chance.”

Grace frowned thoughtfully. “The point of talking to coma patients is the hope of drawing out their consciousness by triggering memories. Other memory triggers include music, scents-”

Travis bolted toward Meila’s bags, digging through them wildly. After a moment, he raised his hand triumphantly, a handful of _alasai_ leaves clutched in it. He returned to Beltan’s side and handed the leaves to him.

“Go on, you do it.”

Beltan stood still, uncertainly next to Travis while he tried to ground himself, hope warring with a sense of deep gratitude, and the still world-shaking sensation of being in love.

“Go ahead,” Travis murmured.

Beltan stepped forward and knelt next to Melia’s bed. He placed the leaves under her nose. Her chest shifted slightly as she breathed in, and then her whole body shuddered.

Grace was by her side again. “Melia, I need you to take deep breaths and try to stay calm.”

“That might be difficult,” Melia said. “You must have found me where I fell - near a bust of a man. I do not know why it was brought here, but it depicted Dakarreth, and there was a shard of Krondisar within it. I cannot stand the magic of the Great Stones, and the knowledge that someone has brought such an artifact to Spardis is worrying.” She moved to push herself to her feet. Beltan was at her side, not certain if he intended to support her or urge her back to bed.

“I think it might be better for Melia to stay here,” Travis said. “Something is wrong here, and keeping a few of us out of sight might be...a good idea. Melia and I can easily stay up here because she’s ill, and you three can scope things out.”

As the others finished preparations for dinner, Travis tugged Beltan aside. His head was lowered, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look Beltan in the eyes. But he did step close, placing his hands on Beltan’s shoulders.

“I don’t know how to say this. I...was planning to leave today.” Beltan’s heart seized up. Travis couldn’t-

“I’m going to hurt someone someday. Even if I try, it’s going to get out of hand. And then...there’s the prophecy - the Runebreaker. So I thought…”

Beltan tugged Travis closer and wrapped his arms around him. “You are no one’s Knight Protector, Travis Wilder. You are certainly not mine. Each of us chooses to walk a path alongside you, and it is an insult to us to take that choice from us. I love you, Travis Wilder. I want nothing more than to follow your destiny with you, to face those dangers alongside you. Because I know your greatest strength is not your magic, but the strength of your care for others. But you must remember this: I, and Grace, and I am certain others, feel the same about you.”

Travis shook his head. “No, you can’t possibly-”

“Yes.” Beltan bent his head so it was even with Travis’. “The only way Sfithrisir could think to torment me was to tell me you would never love me. As long as you do, there is nothing that can hurt me.”


	4. Resolution

And now they were in the dining hall, waiting for their host to arrive. When he did, Beltan felt his heart skip a beat. Grace’s and Aryn’s expressions each went slightly slack, as well, at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man, rugged tanned face framed by luxurious tawny hair and piercing golden eyes taking in the room, and its inhabitants, as his right.

The man’s full, sensual lips curved up in an almost predatory smile. As he approached the table, Lord Darrek spread his arms to his assembled guests.

“I am so pleased you were all able to join me. In the name of the prince, I welcome you.”

His smile was genial, but his gaze…

Beltan suppressed a shiver. He had spent a great deal of time watching Travis, whose grey eyes held care and worry for all those around him. Travis could watch his enemies with a sense of compassion.

Lord Darrek’s held none of that.

Beltan tried to pay attention, to keep some involvement with the conversation around him, but the fiery, uncaring gaze of his host haunted him. He had seen that look in the eyes of men who fought without the love of Vathris, who killed for the sake of killing, and men who brought war to slake other, more perverse lusts.

There was something familiar about the face, though. He wondered if the man was a follower of Vathris, if he had heard the call-

It was no sorcery, Beltan knew, but just a combination of natural attractiveness and a charming demeanor, that drew his thoughts down a shameful path.

The regent suddenly looked up with a delighted smile. “I have been waiting for this for a long time! Come, look!” A servant approached with a covered platter. Lord Darrek approached the platter and lifted the lid, revealing a human head.

Gasps echoed from around the table, and Beltan’s heart stopped. It was not the fear, as with others, that the regent had a man’s head served up to him like a pudding. It was the recognition of the bust. It was the same one they’d found near Melia’s body when she’d fainted. It was a bust of Dakarreth, and a double for Lord Darrek.

“You are enthralled by the workmanship of this sculpture,” Lord Dar - Dakarreth said, turning that gleaming, predatory gaze onto Beltan. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure.” His eyes shifted to Aryn. “Your Highness, is this knight your husband?”

Aryn shook her head. “This is my cousin, Lord Beltan of Cavalan.”

“And am I right in presuming you are a follower of Vathris?”

Beltan could feel his whole body tense. “I am, my lord.”

Dakarreth looked Beltan up and down, as much as they could do so seated. “You know, I could use a bold warrior such as yourself, Lord Beltan.”

“Ah.” Beltan fought the blush that rose on his cheeks, but to no avail. “I am afraid I am spoken for, my lord, both my shield and - and otherwise.”

Beltan was certain no one else saw it, the flare of anger that crossed Dakarreth’s face, a flash gone as soon as it appeared.

“And Lady Grace, what is it that brings you to Perridon?”

Beltan saw her hand clench around a knife, and her other one trembling. He knew then she too knew their host’s true identity. “King Boreas heard of the plague, and of the king’s death, and thought to send us to offer any aid we could.”

“I have just completed a tour of the kingdom, Lady, and I have found things well in hand. So while I appreciate the thoughts, we have no need for such assistance.”

Grace’s neck tensed. Beltan feared she was about to say something foolish that would endanger all of their lives.

But then she gave Dakarreth a polite smile. “If that is the case, I might ask if we can take our leave. It has been a wearying journey, and some of our party are still recovering.”

“Of course, my lady. I hope I will see you all again.”

Grace nodded shakily and climbed to her feet. Beltan slipped behind her to offer support to her and Aryn, trying to ignore Dakarreth’s hungry gaze behind him. Aryn opened her mouth as they slipped from the room, but Grace hushed her, and Beltan was thankful.

When they reached it, he slammed the door to Melia’s room closed. Melia and Travis fixed all of them with quiet, querying gazes.

“Lord Darrek is Dakarreth,” Grace said. She sat on the bed next to Melia and tugged Tira toward her, hugging the child to her. “I don’t think he yet suspects anything, but we must move quickly.”

“We can’t put off him meeting you forever,” Aryn added. “And if you recognize his face-”

“He will recognize mine,” Melia concluded. She sighed. “We seem to have found the Keep of Fire in Spardis.”

Beltan could see Travis and Grace freeze at the same time his heart seized. But then he saw it, a shift in Travis’ stance, a hardness to his expression. Whatever his fate, Travis was going to face it. Travis rose to his feet and crossed toward the door. “If we’re going to stop Dakarreth, if we’re going to find Krondisar, we’re going to need help. I’ll be back in a little while.”

What he brought back was a spy, only for them to be joined by the queen, who had taken the return of Dakarreth as an opportunity to find some aid. The knowledge that her regent was a   
Necromancer had spurred them to action.

Beltan was now huddled by a hidden door at the level of the lake, next to a hidden door, waiting for Falken, Durge, and Lirith. He fought to urge to pace, uncertain whether movement might draw unwanted attention. He could not, however, keep his mind silent of the anxiety, the worry that by delaying, Travis would be hurt or worse. They did not know what they would face in that tower, whether the Stone was hidden there, or if Dakarreth himself-

“I had hoped for a better welcome.”

Beltan started at the sight of Falken, but merely grabbed his arm to tug him from the small boat and into the castle.

“We must hurry. Grace and Travis and Melia have gone to where we believe the Stone to be, and they might be in terrible trouble.”

“They certainly are,” Durge said. “If we succeed at all, it shall certainly require us to give up our lives in the process.”

Beltan scowled at Durge, mindful of Sfithrisir’s own warnings. “We have no time for that. Lady Lirith, are you there?”

The witch stepped inside after them and Beltan hurried to lead the way. When he reached the place they were to meet, Beltan pounded at the door, desperate to find evidence that the others - that Travis - were safe.

It swung open to a wide circular room painted with black stripes. On closer examination, Beltan could see the lines were from the burning of the stone itself. Travis was on his knees, panting, all but leaning on his runestaff. Grace and Tira stood nearby, the girl staring wide-eyed beyond Travis, where the scorching became blackened, melted stone. The Spider - Aldeth, stepped into sight from the edge of the door, hands held out, unarmed.

“Ah, it is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Beltan. And this must be your other companions.”

Beltan pushed Aldeth aside to see to Travis. He leaned down to the other man’s ear. “Are you hurt?”

“I...couldn’t let him hurt them,” Travis gasped. “If I can’t protect them by leaving-” He was cut off by a spasm of coughing. As Beltan reached for him, Travis waved him off. “I’m fine. It’s just smoke. Eriaun thought to use a shard of Krondisar against us. He forgot that the Great Stone burns all it touches.” A grim smile crossed his face, before it faded. “But it still doesn’t help us find the Stone.”

“This, however, might.” Aldeth swung open a tiny door, all but concealed next to a low table. Behind it, a narrow staircase curved upward.

“I shall go first, so that if it is some trap, it should take me first,” Durge announced. Travis followed, and Beltan took the space after him. When they arrived at the top, it was to another disappointment. The top of the tower was a stone platform with a low wall encircling it. There was no decoration, no chest or hiding place, only the grim red light gleaming in the night sky.

“It’s not here,” Grace sighed. “Now what?”

“Now, we go back downstairs and think again. Dakarreth wouldn’t keep the stone where he couldn’t get at it - it must be in the castle somewhere-”

“I would have thought you should have gained some wisdom in the years since we last met, Falken Blackhand.” A tall, tawny-headed man in a gold tunic stepped up from the stairs onto the roof. Dakarreth bowed to Melia. “Lady. I see your taste in companions has not improved over the eons.”

Melia’s face twisted in disgust. “And I see your taste has not either - but then, you never did understand nothing will draw attention away from your empty soul.”

“Such cruel words, My Lady.” Dakarreth’s lips curled in grim amusement. He offered a glance to Beltan, and his amusement gave way to something uglier. “And you. Such a fitting complement to Melia’s entourage. A traitor and murderer to join the traitors that follow her.”

Fury rose in Beltan’s chest. He grabbed for his sword, intent on rending Dakarreth in two. “I will not tolerate such lies!”

“Lies?” Dakarreth crossed the space between them, moving like a lion, graceful and deadly. “You dream of hands soaked in blood, Lord Beltan, dreams that have haunted you since the death of your father. When my master bid me to sow chaos among the realms, I found an easy tool in your hands and weak mind.”

None of the others had moved a muscle. Beltan could see them watching, cold and aloof, as the Necromancer approached him. “What do you mean?” He tried to step back, but his whole body was frozen.

“Three nights of dreams, Lord Beltan, maddening dreams, were enough to drive you to betray your nation, your father, and yourself. You have for so long sought the murderer of your father, never realizing you looked without rather than within.”

The half-remembered dreams rose in Beltan’s mind; he fell to his knees as the Necromancer laughed. “You lie!”

“Lie, Lord Beltan? Why speak a lie when the truth cuts so much deeper?” Dakarreth laughed harder and reached to his side to draw a long knife from the belt of his tunic. “Now, I think - why did you bring that - that _thing_ here?”

The memories bubbling up in Beltan’s mind were too vivid, too raw to be anything but truth. But his execution appeared delayed as Dakarreth spun toward Grace, pointing the knife at Tira, the tiny scarred child.

Grace wrapped her arms tighter around Tira. “She’s a child.”

“No, she is much more than that. Mindroth was no fool. He chose this child to finish his work, and so marked her, twisted her. She tainted my temple, my ode to beauty, and so I drove her away, only for you to bring her to my doorstep!”

“But no matter,” he murmured. “I think I will bring an end to his plotting here.”

No, Beltan thought sluggishly. He could not fail Melia - Travis - here. He could seek punishment some other time, when he did not stand between Travis and certain death. He struggled to his feet and grabbed his sword. The Necromancer was faced away from him, and so he charged, ready to strike Dakarreth through the heart.

His sword shattered against the Necromancer’s flesh and Beltan stumbled, falling behind him. Dakarreth gave him a grim smile.

“It was never going to be that easy, you stupid knight. You should have come with me when you had the choice.”

Dakarreth raised his dagger, only to have it knocked aside with the swing of a greatsword. Durge raised his sword for another strike, but then Dakarreth grabbed his arm, crushing the great knight’s wrist as he wrenched the weapon from him.

“Fool,” Dakarreth growled. “You cannot kill a god.” He plunged the sword into Durge’s chest and tossed knight and sword aside. 

He then stalked toward Travis. “And once you give me the key to Krondisar, you will understand exactly what I mean.”

“You’re not a god, yet,” Travis growled. “And unless you have the Stone, we can still end you.”

“Oh, but I have,” Dakarreth laughed. “It has been casting its power down upon you ever since I first stole it back from that pitiful man.” He raised his hand to the sky, appearing, briefly, to be cupping the red star. And then the star seemed to fall and grow and drift until Dakarreth held in his hands a stone that put rubies to shame, that cast an unearthly red light over the castle, and beyond. Within that light, the shuffling steps of the _krondrim_ could be seen, the Burned Ones drawn by the light of the Stone.

“Now you will burn.”

No blade would harm Dakarreth, Beltan could see, and he doubted he was a match for the Necromancer’s strength. As Dakarreth raised the Stone, Beltan knew, too, that none of them could match the Necromancer’s magic.

But Dakarreth was not a follower of Vathris. He was a _nindari_ himself, and thus knew nothing of Vathris’ followers, except what weak men might have shared with him when ensnared by his charms.

He did not understand the code of the Knight Protector. There was not enough love in his undying heart to see why a man would die for the sake of another.

And he believed that just because a man had been downed that he could offer nothing to a fight.

All men, even gods, have weak points. Beltan had learned fisticuffs and wrestling, and had fought men larger and stronger than him.

The first kick to Dakarreth’s ankle did not drop him; it would break a weaker man’s bones. The second kick, aimed closer to the knee, caused the Necromancer’s stance to buckle for a moment, and in that moment, a blur of motion brushed past Dakarreth.

Aldeth’s mistcloak sailed away from Dakarreth, landing heavily next to Grace and Tira on his right. Dakarreth first lurched left, toward Aldeth, but then changed direction when he saw the Spider had not been foolish enough to touch the stone bare-handed. Anyone who touched it would be burned, would be consumed…

He tackled Dakarreth from behind, dragging the man left and away from the Stone. He heard a panicked shout from Grace, but tuned it out because disengaging and then subsequently staying out of Dakarreth’s reach was more than enough for any man to have to pay attention to.

The red light around them both seemed to fade and intensify; it took a moment for Beltan’s mid-battle awareness to piece it together. The Stone was no longer casting light upon the entire landscape, the light instead contained within the tower, centered on Tira, who held Krondisar in her hands, and stared at it in wonder.

“Don’t touch her!” Travis snapped at Grace; still reaching for Tira, Grace froze, her eyes streaming as the girl held fire in her hands.

Red light flickered up and down Tira’s form. As it did, her face twisted into a delighted smile. She looked at Travis, still smiling. “It will consume you,” she said.

She took a step toward Dakarreth, Stone still held in both hands. “See? Krondisar.” Dakarreth, Beltan, and everyone else beside Tira remained frozen, unable to do more than watch as the child reached Dakarreth’s side and dropped the Stone into his waiting hands.

Dakarreth’s face twisted into a grin of triumph, but only for a moment. The light of the stone began flickering like flames, and Dakarreth’s flesh began to darken and scorch.

“No!” He released the Stone, but Krondisar remained floating in place, the red flames licking up his form. “You abomination!” he howled at Tira. “I will destroy you! I will-”

What he would do became immaterial, as Krondisar completed its work, consuming the remainder of Dakarreth’s form. Tira gestured, and the red Stone came to her. As she took it in hand, the surface of the stone seemed to waver and melt, and a ruby corona surrounded the child. Out beyond the castle, Beltan saw pillars of flame surge and then die out, while Grace, still trapped in silent grief, stepped closer to Tira.

“Are you-”

“Grace,” Tira said in a bright, clear voice, and reached out to embrace the woman. Grace held tightly, sensing, as they all did, that this was a farewell.

The girl turned to Melia and leapt at the woman, as Melia had once to Tome.

“Sister,” Melia sighed, as she held the child to her.

“Sister?” Travis asked.

“What Dakarreth wished to do, Mindroth had already imagined,” Falken said. “If he used the Stone to consume - to transform - Tira, she could become a better guardian than he could ever hope. She and Krondisar have - become one, somehow.”

Tira nodded, and then reached her hands up.

Melia let go of her, stepping back, and Tira began to rise into the air, the red light glowing brighter around her. Travis stood next to Grace, one arm held tightly around her, as they watched the new goddess rise, the reverse of the fall of Krondisar, and become the red star again.

“Lady Grace,” Lirith said, voice strained.

Grace gasped, and sprinted from Travis’ side to Lirith, who was knelt over the still form of Durge. 

“Is he-?”

“He yet lives,” Lirith said. “But to hold him to life is taxing me considerably. His wound is stained with something else, I - sister, _please_!”

Grace fell to her knees. “Of course. I…” She pressed a hand against Durge’s bleeding chest, her eyes sliding shut. “Yes.” She took a deep breath and reached into the pulsing wound. “His ribs are cracked, and - ow!” She withdrew her hand, pulling from her hand something like a bloody needle.

“Sister, he’s fading!” Lirith gasped. “I cannot-”

Grace’s hands shook. “I can’t - can’t help you. I can’t touch the Weirding that way, not without seeing-” She broke off, shaking her head as the tears ran down her cheeks.

“Grace.” Travis knelt behind her. “You have to try. I - know some of it. I’ve seen some of it, in you. But here, if you let them stop you from helping people, they’ve won.”

“I think they already have,” she sobbed.

“No,” Beltan said. Grace looked up at him, startled. “You are a healer, Lady Grace. You must know how to heal a festering wound. It must burn so it will not become poison to the rest of the body. It must scar so it cannot be so easily wounded again."

"Tira wasn't afraid of burning, Grace," Travis said. He wrapped an arm around her. "She wanted to show you didn't need to, either."

Shakily, Grace looked between the two of them before nodding, her face set in an expression of grim focus. She bent her head over Durge and placed her hands back on his chest.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen and then color flooded into his cheeks, and his eyes snapped open. “What…?”

“You were quite foolish, Durge,” Melia said with a wan smile. “I would ask you not do something as foolish in the future.”

“I fear I will not...be able to uphold that...oath.” His eyes slipped back closed.

“Is he dead?” Travis demanded.

“No, but...he needs sutures, and transfusions, and…”

Travis fumbled in his pack, producing the half-coin that could take them from Eldh to Earth again. “I think we can manage a trip to a hospital,” he said.

Grace gasped in relief and scrambled to produce her own.

Beltan stepped forward before they could make a further move. “I should come with you. For protection.”

Grace shook her head. “This is our world, Beltan-”

“And we don’t know what we’re walking into.” Travis reached out to grab Beltan’s hand. He gave Grace a silent glance, something that softened her expression. Travis then smiled at Beltan, a soft, grateful expression that warmed him.

“Tell Aryn farewell for me,” Grace blurted. “I wish we had time, but-”

“Farewell, Grace,” Melia said. “We will watch for your return, and send our wishes and prayers with you.”

Grace nodded and raised her half-coin. Travis raised his own. Beltan squeezed Travis’ hand and pressed a kiss against the other man’s cheek. Wherever his fate would take him, he knew it would run with Travis’ own.

Such a fate was a welcome one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I saw your prompt and my mind went in a slightly different direction than I think you technically expected. It turned into a bit more of an alternate Keep of Fire. I tried my best to make it something you'll enjoy, so I hope you do!
> 
> There are several passages used directly from "The Keep of Fire", by Mark Anthony.


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